


Fall

by Nadiex



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: A monkey named Bruce, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Calvin Rose Good, Circus members hate Bruce, Court of Owls, Damian is Dick and Bruce's son, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dick's uncle is alive, Everything is going very well until the end, Family is much more than blood, I like to make the characters suffer, I'm not sorry, Jason Todd is Red X, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Members of the circus know Dick's secret identity, Ra's al Ghul is dead, Raya Vestri Good, Romani Character, Romani Dick Grayson, Saiko doesn't exist, Secret Identity, Talia al Ghul is dead, The author has been deprived of sleep, The members of the circus know that Dick and Bruce are in love, They hate Bruce for making their little bird suffer, We all hate William Cobb, for now, obviusly, we all know that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadiex/pseuds/Nadiex
Summary: Who is Nightwing? They know nothing about him other than that he is his new instructor, that Robin, Red Robin and Red Hood seem to know him, and that the case he is investigating is going to kill him.A love story between siblings, friends, circus acts, and owls.
Relationships: Batman/Nightwing, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Members of the Haly's Circus, Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Minor Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson - Relationship, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65





	1. The last first meeting.

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272530) by [Nadiex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadiex/pseuds/Nadiex). 



**[Norton](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/71946669#chapter_1_endnotes) Building**

**(Blüdhaven)**

**September 19, 03:37 EDT**

* * *

—I have to hang up, —he murmured, making sure that none of the heroes who approached him heard him.

The shade provided by the building's water shed was barely enough to hide it, but no one seemed to have discovered it yet.

—I'd swear I saw it here.

He made out Superman's voice almost immediately. He had heard her on television the day before, but it had been many years since she had spoken to him in person. And it's been even longer since he spoke to the rest.

—I've surveyed the entire area —Flash announced, when he reached the roof of the building, leaving a yellow trail behind him—, there's no sign of the boy.

—Can you explain to me again why we are here? —Hal seemed upset, on the other hand, Hal was always upset.

He and Superman floated inches off the ground, just a couple of feet away, and Nightwing wondered where they might not see him.

—I think —he said, finally stepping out of the shadows—, which is for me.

The four members of the League present suddenly turned to him. The only one who didn't seem surprised by his presence was Batman, although that didn't surprise him.

None had changed much since the last time he had seen them.

—You ... You must be Nightwing.

—No, I'm a monkey on a unicycle.

Barry covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh and Nightwing grinned in amusement, as Hal put a hand to his forehead, mentally scolding Superman for the stupid question.

Batman was still as expressionless as he remembered.

—I apologize for the bad joke. —Nightwing put a hand to his head and pushed his hair back. He was nervous—. What are you doing here? —He finally asked.

—Oh yes, we want to ask you something.

Superman approached him face to face, and Nightwing momentarily wondered if they would recognize him, if Batman would.

The last time he had seen any of them in person he had been 16 years old, and he was aware that he had changed a lot since then, but the doubt remained in his mind.

—We want you to train our Team.

—...Sorry?

—We've seen your abilities —Batman reported, approaching slowly, tossing the cape over his shoulders to reveal the bat symbol—, They are ... extraordinary."

—You would be of great help. —Barry finished.

They seemed restless, not knowing what he would answer.

But Nightwing was trembling with fear inside. He couldn't, shouldn't, if they found him… if he endangered the Team or the League… No, he couldn't.

Nightwing shook his head down and then faced them head-on, feigning a determination he didn't feel.

—I ... thank you ... but I'm not interested ... And you should leave before anyone sees you.

The sound of the hook against the concrete wall of the continuous building was the only warning they had before Nightwing would jump off the building and get lost in the night.

—Follow him.

Batman's growl encouraged them all.

* * *

**Port Authority Railhead**

**(Blüdhaven)**

**September 19, 03:55 EDT.**

* * *

Somehow, Barry found himself with his hands and feet tied, surrounded by a hundred marbles. Clark was lying on the ground. A chunk of kryptonite lay inches from him and a trail of sweat trickled down his forehead. Hal had lost his ring and was handcuffed next to Flash. And Batman was nowhere to be found.

Nightwing tossed Hal's green ring into the air, leaning against one of the red warehouse doors.

—Hey, you! That is not a toy! —Hal yelled.

Nightwing tossed the ring back into the air, ignoring it.

—I know you are there. —He said suddenly, it was dark..

Batman jumped from the roof of the continuous warehouse without even making a sound. Nightwing tossed the ring at Hal and then carefully bent down to pick up the kryptonite and put it back in a box that he then tucked into one of his belt pockets. When he looked up again the four superheroes of the League were in front of him.

—You are good. —Clark announced, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

—... I told you to leave.

—Yes, good ...

—We really want you to work with the Team." Barry offers, interrupting Clark.

—... Why?

—Why ...? —Clark repeated, confused.

—Yes “Why?" —Nightwing offered, leaning back against the wall looking relaxed when he didn't really feel that way—. Oh, wait, let me guess ... you want to keep an eye on me right?

—What!? Green Lantern asked, surprised and scared—. No!

Nightwing let out a snort that sounded more like a laugh before standing up.

—Sure ...—He said and glanced at Batman. A thought, a certainty, suddenly crossed his mind. He did not know who he was, otherwise he would have existed alone ... or had not come at all. If he managed to hide long enough… If he managed to keep the birds away from the owls, maybe….— It's okay.

—You will do it? —Flash asked, reticent and surprised.

Nightwing stopped in front of them again and gave a clean, clear laugh that engulfed everything.

—Yes, yes, I will ... On one condition.

—Which?

—My identity, —he replied.

—Huh ...? —Hal asked again.

—My identity is my own ... and I would like it to remain that way.

—Sorry to tell you boy, but Batman probably already knows who you are.

—No, he doesn't know. —Nightwing smiled, softly and easily, but looked sad and Batman let out a grunt.

He had tried to discover Nightwing's identity the moment he heard about him. He hadn't even found out about him until just a few weeks ago. That was perhaps what bothered him the most. He had learned of the existence of the Blüdhaven hero through Flash at one of the League's meetings, when he began looking for a new mentor for the Young Justice Team. And after that, nothing.

The only valuable information he had managed to obtain was his presence in Eastern Europe three years ago, and after that in parts of Asia and Oceania. His presence in Gotham's sister city dated back to just a couple of months after his return from 'death'.

The boy, whoever he was, knew how to hide from him ... and that made him uneasy

—Give me your word and I'll train the Team.

Superman looked at them all and one by one, they all nodded in confirmation.

—You have it.

Nightwing smiled again, nodded, and pulled the hook from one of the back pockets of his belt.

—Well then. Clark, Barry, Hal ... Bats —He said, by way of farewell and then disappeared.

The four superheroes stared at Blüdhaven's dark and polluted sky for a moment, until Flash made up his mind to speak.

—He knows ...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Norton: Easter Egg - Haly Circus is also known as "CC Haly and Norton Bros. Circus".


	2. Who the hell is Nightwing?

**Mount Justice**

**(Happy Harbor)**

**September 19, 17:19 EST**

* * *

There was a strange silence around the Dark Knight's wards. Although that would be lying.

The aura around them was gray and opaque, as if they carried a bad omen or bad news with them, which materialized in front all of them as the Zeta tubes announced the arrival of the League members, one by one.

Some moved restlessly, and the Team looked at the three masked youths for an explanation they didn’t receive, although the stormy aura surrounding them seemed to make one thing clear:

Whatever was going to happen, they knew it.

—What happened? —Zatanna asked at last, and the entire room fell silent.

As if they were in synchronized, Conner turned off the television and Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman took a step forward.

—We have thought that the best thing for the team, and especially for the new members, is that the training and counseling be given by different heroes, with Black Canary being your advisor —With Superman's phrase, everyone looked at Black Canary, who was smiling tenderly, saddened.

—… And who will be our coach? —Kaldur's question made every member of the League look at each other. And as if it were a signal, the Zeta tubes began to work again, constructing in front of them the figure of a man whose eyes were covered by a domino mask.

— **ACKNOWLEDGED.NIGHTWING.R.01** —announced a mechanical voice

Everyone was silent for a moment looking at Nightwing and the strange blue symbol that adorned his chest, who was not looking at anyone and seemed to regret being there.

Wonder Woman was the first to approach him, her hand extended to greet him.

—Nice to meet you, Nightwing. I am...

—Dian, —he greeted, interrupting her and alerting everyone to the knowledge of Wonder Woman's name, all at the same time.

—... How? ... How do you know her name? —Blumblebee's question echoed in the silence of the cave and carried everyone's thoughts with it.

In response, Nightwing just stared at her, intently.

—Uh ... well, I think we'd better get going —Barry said hastily, as he ran off towards the Zeta tubes, closely followed by the other members of the League.

Before disappearing, he shot a rueful look at Wally and Bart, who looked at him with grimaces paths of treason.

Batman turned to Nightwing before leaving, still not saying a word, and the two shared a look, which, still hidden behind the masks, let Batman know that Nightwing was hiding more than just his identity.

—Who the hell are you? —Bart asked, when all the League members disappeared, earning a pat on the head from Wally.

—The important thing here is that he's going to be our teacher, and it's the first time we've heard of him. How can we trust him? —Wally asked, folding his arms, earning a slap on the back of his neck from Artemis.

—You shouldn't —he replied, making his way across the room, circling the Team as Wally's jaw dropped.

—Do you see what I mean ?! This guy can't give us lessons.

—Do you want to bet, KF? —He asked, when he was next to him, causing silence to return to the room. The last one to call Wally, KF, had been the first Robin, and that was many years ago.

He had also been the first, and thus the instigator of that appellation, and no one had dared step on that mined ground since his departure.

—Mr. Nightwing —M'gann called, taking a step forward—, about KF ...

—I know —This time Nightwing didn't stop, and continued to examine the Team, stopping only once he was behind everyone—. Training room. Now.

When they turned around, he was gone.

He had disappeared into the training room, between the ceiling beams, where he was tying colored scarves around the posts.

—I understand that you would prefer that Dinah continue to be your trainer, and I honestly believe it was a lack of good judgment that led me to agree to be your instructor. But I've given my word and made a deal with your mentors, so we'll keep this simple for everyone: Pick up the flags —he said, and his voice echoed through the rafters—. Once you've collected all the flags, I'll get out of here —he finished, before jumping from the top of the roof. He fell. Fast. Very fast. And when he was only a few feet away he shrunk back, he rolled over, making a perfect fall.

—That's easy, all you have to do is fly there, and ...

—No powers —Nightwing said, interrupting Blue Beetle—. No skillful tools for this. I'm not going to teach you how to use your powers, I don't think I'm the best one for it —At that he crossed his arms, letting everyone notice his tool belt, presided over by a holster for his eskrima sticks—. If you want to end this and let me go so that Black Canary can be your instructor again, you have only one option: Take the flags with your respective colors.

They looked at the shadowy ceiling of the cave, where there were supposed to be colored flags that none of them could see, and when they turned their eyes again to Nightwing, he had already disappeared, shouting from somewhere in the cave that he would return an hour late.

* * *

**Mount Justice**

**(Happy Harbor)**

**September 19 18:55 EST**

* * *

When he returned, an hour and seven seconds later, everyone was lying on the ground, exhausted.

—It’s... impossible —Rocket argued, sitting on the floor.

Nightwing frowned and untied his belt, dropping it to the ground.

A moment later he was running towards one of the corners, gathering momentum and jumping on one of the walls, and then landing on the next, until he made a firm leap that made him land on one of the columns scattered around the room, and return to jump, this time landing on one of the girders, where he gained momentum and jumped again, grabbing onto the next girder with his hands, jumping and turning twice before reaching the next one; he repeated the process several times, until he was lost in the darkness of the ceiling. Half a minute later, the blue and black flag fell to the ground, in the middle of the track, and Nightwing fell behind, without a trace of sweat or fatigue.

—What did you try to do? —He asked, but got no answer, everyone was too stunned to answer—. And then?

— ...

—Are you heroes or just a bunch of kids hoping everything turns out well by punching a bunch of bad guys? —He asked, frowning—. In order to get the flags, you need to think like heroes. If it were a life or death situation, that one of you manages to save yourself means that all of you can save yourself, but one is not saved because one is lucky. You will often be alone in situations like that, and the only people around you will be your teammates. The only people who can save you. But you don't trust others because you are used to competing with each other. I will talk to Canario to help you with this, in the meantime, we will dedicate the training sessions to getting to know each other, to trusting others, and above all ... to being a team.

***

They all stood in a circle in the common room, sitting on chairs, couches, couches, stools, and cushions. Nightwing presided over the circle, seated between Red Hood and Kaldur.

—You can see this exercise as a first group session, so we will not involve anything that we think is too personal and no one is obliged to respond; Everyone is free to ask what they want and whom they want —Nightwing clarified, crossing his legs as if he were going to meditate—. Started.

Megan was the first to raise her hand and the first to ask.

—Nightwing,—she requested eagerly, and only dared to ask when he tilted his head toward her, waiting for her question—. What city do you protect?

—Blüdhaven —They all fell silent at the answer, at least until Garfield started yelling.

—Blüdhaven!? Gotham's evil twin sister !? ... Man, you're my hero.

—How long have you been active? —Kaldur asked curiously, unaware to date that this city had a hero, or that it existed.

—… Long enough, but that won't give you clues about my identity, Kaldur.

—What is your name? —Wally asked sharply and angry because the man had mentioned his best friend, earning a puzzled look from the man in front of him—. You know the name of one of the founders of the League, and surely you also know our names, the most fair thing is that we know yours.

—My identity is secret for a reason, Wally —he replied with an arrogant smile, proving not only that he was right, but that he was also willing to use that information to keep his secrets—. And you're right, it's not fair, but right now it's the best for everyone. If it isn't essential, I will not reveal my identity. It's clause 1 of my contract as a team mentor… —Before continuing, he shrugged—, also the only one.

—What about your family? —Mal asked, after a while, who had been pondering that question for a while—. They know? —He asked again, when he didn't get an immediate answer.

Nightwing's face darkened then and everyone knew in that instant that they had crossed an invisible line, like a scar that was still bleeding.

—It's… it's more complicated than that… —Nightwing sighed, debating with himself how much he could reveal and how many secrets he would have to keep masking.

"The crownless prince of half-truths" [Hector](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/71957082#chapter_2_endnotes) had told him once, a long time ago, before he became Nightwing, after a long discussion that he no longer remembered what it had consisted of, but he supposed that he could well agree with that to the strong old man. After all, not lying didn't necessarily mean telling the truth.

—I lost my family when I was a child —he finally confessed to them, after many years, and before anyone dared to say something he shook his head once, dowplaying it—. But that’s been a long time ago, what’s left of it... —he continued, remembering all those people, with whom he didn’t share blood, but was still his family— well, they don’t agree very much with my line of work, but they can’t stop me either —he clarified, and almost as if it were an invocation, the sadness that threatened to spread through his chest stopped with his personal phone ringing in one of his pockets.

He answered without looking, knowing that of the six people who had that number, three were sitting next to him, the fourth only called during patrols and that the fifth would never dare to call him.

—Yes?... [Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/71957082#chapter_2_endnotes)! —he exclaimed, feigning surprise for the sake of decorum, although he knew his interlocutor knew him too well to believe him—. Of course… I’ll be there in half an hour… —he cut the call, after a quick goodbye, before running out of the room, not bothering to say if he would return, and disappeared, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Héctor: Character that I just invented just because yes and because I like to see people suffer. Is it important to the plot? Maybe. Will it appear? Oh yeah.  
> * Jack: Jack Haly. Owner of Haly’s Circus. Is it going to show up to mess things up even more? Effectively. Is he going to kill Bruce? Possibly.


	3. Someone we never met.

**București Nord**

**(Rumania)**

**20 September 02:15** **EET**

* * *

Outside, the storm was devastating and hid the voices of the stagehands against the chilly eastern European wind, occupying the silence between them.

Among all the noise, someone screamed.

— _Probably Phil_ —Dick said to himself, and smiled, a sad and worn smile, invisible in the dim light of the compartment until Jack turned on the light.

Bright posters decorating the walls brought them both, memories of an extinct past, that only got them more harm.

In the midst of that pain, Haly smiled with a broken soul and Dick also, although neither managed to make the smile reach their eyes.

Jack shook his head, trying to dispel those thoughts and pulled, out of a pocket of his coat, a crumpled envelope and almost faded and gave it to Dick

—I thought you might want to read it.

_To J. Haly_ , he reads on the back of the envelope, containing a wrenching and cruel letter.

It was full of hatred and fury and rage, but also guilt and forgiveness, and all that Dick didn't want to know about.

>   
>    
>  _Jack Haly._

> _At the time this letter reaches your hands, I will have already left this world._
> 
> _I don’t have time left, and I feel that the only thing that holds me now, is the pain._
> 
> _A pain that will follow me to the grave, and even later, if there is a life after this._
> 
> _I curse you, Jack Haly, I have cursed your last name and your blood, every second of my life and I have come to hate you, because they taught me, being very young, that the dead should not be hated, and all those, on whom my hatred would fall,_ _died long ago._
> 
> _I curse you, Jack Haly, because your father is no longer in this world to take his own place ... and neither is mine._
> 
> _And despite all this, I am also grateful to you, for everything you did to repair your father's mistakes. I wish I had the same courage as you._
> 
> _But it is not courage that keeps us alive, but fear._
> 
> _So, run away._
> 
> _Run Jack Haly and never go back to Gotham, don't let the Court catch up with you._
> 
> _Do not allow Richard to run the same fate as the others._
> 
> _Don't let William get his claws on him._
> 
> _He is our only hope:_
> 
> _Our little Robin._

  
  


_Amelia Crowne_ _,_ signed at the end, and Dick shivered seeing the name.

* * *

**Gotham’s Cemetery**

**(Gotham)**

**September 21, 12:01** **EDT**

* * *

The news of Amelia Crowne's death spread like wildfire and started a fire.

She left, with more secrets than anyone could keep and left in her wake a million questions, of which, perhaps, no one had the answers, and in which Dick was drowning.

She left, having lost everything, even hatred, leaving behind her murmurs and whispers, of rumors and secrets.

And in the middle of those murmurs, he felt steps approaching him, calm and silent, almost like another whisper, and he recognized them, instantly, from the memory of that horrible night, when he approached him for first time, and all those times after that.

—I didn't expect to see you here.

Dick shrugged, with his hands in the pockets, not knowing quite what to say, and opting for the truth in the end.

—I didn't expect to be here either.

—I thought you were in Romania —Bruce's voice was deep and barely a whisper among the murmurs of the people and a chill ran down his spine.

—Jason or Tim? —He asked, trying to avoid the ravages that voice could actually cause in his mind, staring at his black shoes, thinking how much he hated them.

—Tim ... He said it was kind of torture trying to reach you with the time difference.

Dick tried to contain the smile that crept across his lips.

—The great Bruce Wayne, joking. When does the world end?— He asked sarcastically, turning to face him, forgetting how easy it was to get caught in the blue of Bruce’s eyes.

—Next week is good for me, I have a meeting with the Mayor.

Dick tried to hold the laughter that threatened at the back of his throat, never taking his eyes from Bruce.

For a moment, they both seemed to lose themselves in each other, in a world that was only theirs, among the crowd of people who were beginning to disperse and Dick swore he could see something cross Bruce’s gaze, an emotion that he didn’t know to name, but that was directed at him.

Bruce smirked, a strange smile that wasn’t quite, and took a single step closer to him, reaching out in his hand in his direction, as if he feared he might escape at any moment.

—Sr. Grayson? —A bland voice cracked by the years called right behind them, breaking into a thousand fragments the emotions that threatened them both. Neither recognized the man when they turned, but his gray eyes had a strange shadow on them, as if he knew something they didn’t and was willing to tear them apart, like a bird of prey—. Richard Grayson —he claimed, without the need for anyone to say anything, staring at him.

Dick nodded, not daring to speak, fearing what was coming deep within him.

—Henry Thongthan —introduced himself. extending a hand which Dick reluctantly accepted—. I’m Mrs. Crowne’s attorney. I’d like to speak to you.. in private —he clarified the last part, glaring at Bruce with what seemed to be a warning.

—I… Actually…

—It will be a moment —Thongthan chimed in, watching as Dick began to make an excuse as he pulled a white card from the pocket of his black jacket—. Please, meet me in my office when you’re done talking with Mr. Wayne —he asked, before turning around and leaving, not waiting for Dick to had a chance to refuse.

—A demanding man— Bruce whispered amidst the silence that had formed between them, as they watched Thongthan’s slim figure walk away.

Dick stared at the card in his hand for just a second, before squeezing it between his fingers, forming a fist with them, until his knuckles turned white. When Dick lifted his face to him, Bruce was already looking at him, and his breath caught in her lung.

—Yeah —he mumbled.

—I didn’t know you knew Amelia Crowne —he said, and Dick knew, from the soft tinged that covered his voice, that there was something else in his words.

One sentence and that had become an interrogation.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised, he had resigned himself long ago, to the fact that he and Bruce would never be able to be totally honest with each other, not now, not with everything.

—I didn’t know her —he was quick to say, a little more abrupt that he intended, partly because it was the truth. Amelia Crowne was someone he has never met, and in some way, that thought hurt—. I’d better go, I have to catch a flight —He said, reluctantly and turned to Bruce before continuing—, Haly expects me to meet him in Ukraine to continue the tour.

—You’re back to the circus —Bruce murmured, and Dick shrugged.

—You can get the boy out of the circus, but you can’t get the circus out of the boy —he explained, repeating the same words that Jack had said to her once, a long time ago.

Dick sighed, knowing that he no longer has a choice and he relaxed his grip on the crumpled white card, which fell to the green graveyard grass, cradled by a gentle breeze.

And then he left too, keeping the image of Amelia Crowne’s in his memory.

* * *

**Gotham**

**(Thongthan’s Offices)**

**September 21 , 12:55** **EDT**

* * *

Thongthan was sitting on the couch in his office when he walked in, with a bored look on his face, leaning one of his arms over the backrest.

—I suppose you know why I wanted to meet you, Mr. Grayson.

—Not at all —he lied, with a perfectly rehearsed smile, as he approached him.

Thongthan gave him a curious and impassive look, not being fooled by his tricks and took a cigar from his jacket, from the same pocket where he kept his white cards and cut off the tip before setting it on fire and bringing the cigar to his lips.

Dick sat next to him, still with his practiced smile on his lips, and the memory of a large audience in his mind.

—Your great-grandmother left stipulated in our contract that I should meet with you as soon as possible after her death —He explained, even without looking at him—... I’m glad you saved me the trip to Europe.

Dick blinked in disbelief, his fake smile turning into a nasty and biting grin.

—The people of this city forget everything they don’t like —Thongthan added, before he could articulate a word—. Everyone has forgotten that Amelia Crowne lost a child… I myself had forgotten until a few weeks ago. You can’t expect me to be surprised to learn that you are the sole survivor of the Crowne family. 

—I’m not the only —He refuted, and regretted the same instant that he saw Thongthan's predatory smile upon getting his confession.

—No, you aren’t —He assured him and took a drag on his cigar—. Richard Grayson, his uncle, is still alive, right?

Dick nodded, clenching his fists on the fabric of his suit pants.

—Has he ever woken up? —He asked, and Dick wanted to laugh in his face and lie to him, tell him no, that during all those years, his uncle had been asleep, not knowing that he had lost his wife, his son, and his brother at the same moment in which they hit the ground and that the two of them were all the family they had. But he didn’t, and the silence stretched thick between them, colored by the smoke of Thongthan’s cigar—. Mr. Grayson, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m not here to revive your trauma, and I’m not your enemy —He assured, watching as Dick’s hands turned into fists.

—What do you want then? —He asked sharply, engulfed by rage and Thongthan got up from his place to retrieve the brown envelope that was resting on a pile of documents on his desk—. What is it? —He asked again, when Thongthan handed him the envelope.

—The will of Amelia Crowne —He replied, sitting back down, abandoning his place on the leather sofa and opting for a uncomfortable chair across from Dick— You are the only heir to her —He explained.

Dick gasped at his words, shifting his gaze from side to side, torn between staring at the envelope in his hands or the man in front of him.

—This is a joke.

—I’m not a clown, Mr. Grayson.

—But…

Thongthan sighed, letting out his breath, the smoke trapped in his throat.

—Amelia Crowne spent most of her life alone. She lost her son, and she believed him dead for a long time, even though he wasn’t. But by the time she discovered the truth it was too late. Her son had died and in his place there were only them, her grandchildrens: Richard and John Grayson, who were just teenagers and all they knew was the circus. Mrs. Crowne didn't have the heart to keep them away from their home, as much as it hurt —Thongthan paused for a moment, pondering his next words, and turned his gaze to the wide windows of his office—. I'm sure that had she known what would happen, she would have changed her mind. It wasn't fair, Mr. Grayson, to any of you, not even to her. And whether you like it or not, you are her family. 

Dick said nothing, navigating his thoughts, knowing that Thongthan was right, but the idea that Amelia Crowne was his great-grandmother was still something abstract in his mind, something he had never stopped to think about.

He couldn't even remember her face and something in that thought caused a lump in his throat.

—What am I supposed to do now?

Thongthan looked at him for a moment, with a sad smile.

—Mourn your loss, Mr. Grayson, and see me again when you're ready.

* * *

**Gotham General Hospital**

**(Gotham)**

**September 21, 16:19 EDT**

* * *

Dick sat down on the padded armchair in the room, as he had done a thousand times, and tried, like so many others, to crack a smile.

—Hello, uncle Rick.

There was no answer and Dick leaned down to hold his hand in his own. They were hot and his pulse, steady against his fingers, was a greater comfort than anyone could comprehend.

—I know you don't know, and I don't know if you can hear me right now, or if I should tell you, but… Amelia Crowne died today… and I… —For a moment, the words choked on him and he didn't know how to continue— I'm so sorry, uncle Rick.

Dick released his hand and got up, resigned and weary, and walked to the door before stopping. A nurse stopped at the other end of the corridor and gave him a smile full of sympathy and pity, just like the first time he had come, the same as the next, and the same as all those that followed after that, and Dick turned to look at his uncle's face one last time.

—It’s still you and I ... _[Și fiul meu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/72353073#chapter_3_endnotes). _

Dick cried that night.

But it wasn't because of Amelia Crowne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Și fiul meu: In Romanian it means "And my son".


	4. The doubts of our existence.

**Champs Elysées**

**(France)**

**September 29, 18:15 CET.**

* * *

The cafeteria was deserted except for the two of them.

The waiter, Adrien, had entered the warehouse shortly after serving their drinks, which were still intact and cold on the table. A book with brown leather covers and yellowed pages rested between them and with a sigh, the older opened the book to the first page.

Ephraim Newhouse, signed on it.

One by one, the names followed each other:

> Henry Ballard
> 
> Alexander Stauton
> 
> Felix Harmon
> 
> William Cobb

They both trembled at the name and slammed the book shut. A page came off and fell to the ground, showing its contents to both of them. The ink had marked a gray name on the paper.

—I need you to tell me if there is some way to…

—To kill them —He asked, dry and scathing, not meeting his eyes.

He swallowed hard and nodded.

—If this doesn’t work out… If I can’t escape… I… I need to know it.

—… —The other man ran a hand through his messy brown hair on his head and fixed his brown eyes on him—. If there is a way to end them, I don’t know what it is. Believe me —He said and raised a cigarette to his lips. There was a sign on the front door that prohibited smoking inside—. I know it —he assured— I have tried it.

His blue eyes were then directed to the man’s throat, and the memory of a rope around his neck struck him, fresh and crisp behind his eyelids, as if the four years that had passed since then hadn’t happened.

—… There must be something we haven’t tried.

The man took a drag on his cigarette. Long and deep.

—… Flees.

—… You know I can’t…

—Lad, they won’t stop until they catch you, and once they do, they…

—You don’t have to remind me —he interrupted, raising his voice and placing both hands on the table. And then, at the surprised look of the man in front of him, he sighed—. Sorry… I…

—… You don’t have to apologize to me, lad.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe it wasn’t necessary, after all, he was probably the only one capable of understanding the despair he felt at that moment.

—I-It’s just that time keeps running and I feel like there’s still something that eludes me.

—Maybe… you could ask “you know who” for help —There was a teasing tone to his voice and a tinge of something he didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter.

—No! —he answered excitedly—. He mustn't know about this, he would only get him killed…

—But that’s the question, isn’t it? —he asked, not waiting for an answer and leaned toward him, resting his arms on the table—. If you flee, they won’t be able to catch you, and then they will look for someone to do the work for you, and they’ll die, but if they catch you, they’ll force you to kill them… From my point of view, whatever you do they will end up dead.

—… I…

The man sighed and in that sigh he let out the cigarette smoke. The sight of him returned to the ceiling and, again, to the lad in front of him.

—How much time you have left?

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the crystal surface of the table.

—Three months, maybe four or five… I don’t know.

—The poison will go faster and faster… We should think with a smaller time frame… A month or two at the most, before it fully enters your system, and just a few weeks before…

—I don’t think that’s enough.

—I know.. That friend of yours… Wilson —He didn’t let him finish.

—He is not my friend.

The man shrugged.

—You say he was injected with something similar in the army, right?

—Yes… He… is trying to develop an antidote.

—Do you think he gets it?

—I don’t know… but whether he makes it or no, I need a backup plan.

—… If your friend hasn’t gotten the antidote in two months…

—I know.

He looked through the cafeteria windows, at the trees and the people outside, so calm, so peaceful…

It was starting to get dark.

—I should be going.

He got up, dragging the chair, and picked up the page that was still on the floor. He stopped to look at it for a second and placed it in its place, closing the book and tucking it inside his jacket. The drinks were still intact on the table and he deposited a bill on the table for both of them.

He put on his black coat and covered his neck with a scarf of gray squares and red lines.

He was standing by the door, his right hand raised to grasp the golden knob, when the man spoke again:

—Stay away from Gotham.

He nodded. He wasn’t able to say anything, he didn’t dare to lie.

Cold air blew through the door as he left, disappearing into the crowd.

The man settled into his place and took a drag on his cigarette.

—Good luck, Dick.

* * *

**Kiev**

**(Ukraine)**

**October 1, 16:00 EET.**

* * *

_“—Rose! You’d better not’re dead!”._

_“You’re Cobb’s chick, aren’t you? —inquired Calvin, who had already lit his cigarette, coating the apartament with a strong smell of nicotine—. You have his eyes.”_

_“—You’re not a Talon” he assured, before Calvin Rose’s astonished gaze—. And me neither” Calvin started laughing._

_“—You don’t understand! The circus was their bloody hunting ground! At the moment we trod Gotham, we were already dead”._

Dick woke up agitated, his vision clouded and the air stuck in his lungs, thinking that he was drowning.

The unperturbed bustle of the city, in the midst of the monotony, between the silences and the music that gave it color and life, flooded his mind in the dark compartment. Only a few fine rays of sunlight managed to pass through the curtains, weak and subtle in the sunset, barely enough to push away the memories that haunted him.

—Dick? —A deep voice crossed his mind between the gloom of the room and the creak of the door that opened. And Dick didn’t say anything, but he hummed a tune, belonging to an old lullaby that he hadn’t thought he remembered. Lately, the memories he thought he had forgotten were whipping his mind hard, creaking havoc amid oblivion, and now, between the smell of nicotine and the murmur across the room.

In the gloom, Dick could only see the flame of the cigarette that [Phil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/72612135#chapter_4_endnotes) was holding tightly between his lips, and the metal tips of his thick brown boots, swinging back from side to side on the way they traveled to reach him.

—You have given us a good scare, little bird —he murmured, still holding his cigarette between his lips, sitting on a small, almost rickety wooden stool next to the bed—. Raya was on the verge of a nervous breakdown… she was thinking of killing you, but then she remembered that you are his son’s godfather —he explained with a sly smile, that hiding a bad joke— and she decided to do it anyway —he clarified, and the as if he had forgotten something, he added—: I had to stop her or we couldn’t be here now.

Dick tried to laugh at the image formed in his mind, but couldn’t. His ribs ached and his blood seemed to burn.

—Why am I not surprised? —He mumbled, through the pain and incessant sound of his heart—. Thanks.

Phil made a strange face, a mixture of anger and sadness, and toddes his cigarette into the glass of water that had been on the nightstand all night, and most of the day. He stood up, overturning the stool that splintered even more from the hit on the floor, and pulled a pack of Marlboro out of one of his jacket pockets without starting.

They were the same ones Jonhy used to smoke secretly, earlier, during winter nights in Europe, in the old compartment they shared and when neither of them had been able to sleep.

Dick wondered at the time if anyone else had known, and then remembered that it no longer mattered.

And that thought hurt.

—I don’t remember the color of his eyes —he murmured, low and quiet, and if Phil heard him, Dick never knew. His thoughts were clouded by the sound of the lighter and again, by the smell of nicotine.

—She knew who you were —Phil murmured, with a bitter tinge to his voice, letting the smoke escape from his mouth. His thick red hair was barely visible in the gloom of the room, but his brown eyes seemed to stare into the distance with a strange calm, and the omen of a storm—. All these years, she knew that her blood ran through your veins, knew that you spilled it on Gotham's streets every night… and that you were destined to wear a crown of feathers on your head… And she did nothing.

Neither of them said her name but it wasn’t necessary.

Her name was etched behind their eyelids.

Amelia Crowne.

Dick could feel Phil’s grudge on his own skin, but there was something devastating about it.

—Will you tell Damian? —He asked, choking with pain— If I can’t…

—Don’t you even dare say it! —Phil yelled. His cigarette fell to the floor, and he ended up crushing it under the thick soles of his boots, cursing under his breath and a flash—. I won't tell a child that they has lost their father. Not again. 

Dick nodded and looked away at the paper with his name on the nightstand, next to a book with brown covers.

A last ray of light passed through the glass of water, and flashes of light illuminated the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Phil: Did I just make up another character just for the sake of it? Effectively. Will he try to kill Bruce? Maybe.


	5. The nest of the birds.

**Mount Justice**

**(Happy Harbour)**

**October 1, 10:13 EST**

* * *

—Don’t even think about it, Wally.

Everything stopped at that time, and fell with a thud a moment later.

Nightwing, still lying on the living room couch, remained motionless, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. Wally's hands stayed above Nightwing's face for a moment, just a second, as they were, from grabbing Nightwing's sunglasses, before entangling themselves in his thick red hair.

—Dammit. I thought you were asleep!

Nightwing yawned, suppressing a laugh at the corner of his mouth when Wally shot him an indignant look, something childish in his bright green eyes.

—Nightwing? —Dinah’s voice sounded from the entrance of the room, and Nightwing tipped his head back over the armrest of the sofa to look at her— What are you doing here? I thought you canceled training today because you were injured.

Lying prone, Nightwing looked at them over his sunglasses, for just an instant, so fleeting that no one was able to guess the color of his eyes.

—I’m hiding —he revealed, with a wolfish grin that didn’t seem to bode well. Then he let out a yawn, stretching his arms above his head, and finally got up from the couch—. Raya tried to kill me… again —clarified, fun— and Raymond was, in his own words: “too busy” to stop her… Coward, he doesn't care that I’m the godfather of his son, noooo, I’m sure he would kill me himself while I sleep if he could if that would get the boy to stay away from the lions for five minutes —He spoke as he made his way to the kitchen, looking in the pantry brown paper bag, which he had hidden upon arrival— I mean, how was I supposed to know that the kid would become so obsessed with the lions? The lions were Johny’s thing, not mine. I like elephants, not lions.

—[Lions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes)? —Artemis’s voice sounded slightly alarmed, and Dick remembered those early days of yesteryear and for a moment, it seemed that nothing had changed.

—Exact! And do you know what bothers me the most? —He asked, pointing at them with the index and middle fingers and the brown bag still in his hand—. That they should blame [Wilhelm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes), not me. Who do they think takes care of their son when they are working so that he doesn’t run away? He?

—And, haven’t you thought about leaving? — suggested Wally, angrily— Far? Since it’s evident that nobody wants you —The comment earned him a nasty blow to the nape from Artemis and a reproachful look from Aqualad.

Nightwing, on the other hand, looked at him surprised, repeatedly blinking at the malicious mockery of who his best friend was, without knowing it.

—You’re kidding, aren’t you? —He asked in a calm voice, and when he received no responses, he continued—. I haven’t spent more than two weeks in the same place in centuries. Damn it! I don’t even remember the last time I spent more than two months in the same country! I can’t go anywhere I haven’t already been.

—Wait —Garfield requested, and Nightwing took the opportunity to take out one of the sweets, dusted with sugar, that the bag contained and put it in his mouth—. What do you mean? You said you were protecting Blüdhaven.

—Protect Blüdhaven, doesn't mean that I live there. What? Do you think someone would live in Blüdhaven voluntarily?

—But that's not …

—You've been using the Zeta tubes —Black Canary cut in, interrupting whatever he was going to say M'gann. There was no doubt in his voice.

Nightwing smirked, looking back at them over his sunglasses, before putting a [vergun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes) back in his mouth.

—Don’t act surprised. I've been using the Zeta tube system longer than most League members —he confessed, not bothering to sound embarrassed or self-conscious—. The system is rubbish—. His last words, far from it all, seemed like a kind of boast.

—What the hell does that mean? —Nightwing fell silent with a sly smile on his face, took a last candy from the bag and threw it to Wally, who took it in a reflex act—. You ... you've already been here, right?

—No —he lied.

And no one believed him, but they didn’t dare to say anything.

It didn’t seem even remotely a lie, at least, it didn’t seem as cruel as it should and of course, it didn’t get caught in his tongue, nor was it mixed with guilt, but it did leave the nostalgia for what it was hiding and for what it could not speak.

* * *

**Kiev**

**(Ukraine)**

**October 1, 18:23 EET.**

* * *

Dick sighted the circus tent in the distance.

The brilliant colors seemed to stretch for miles in the darkness of that afternoon, and it didn't take long for the laughter to reach his ears.

He told himself that he was at home, that this was where his home was, and he knew that he was lying to himself, even if only halfway.

—Dickie! —[Joey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes)'s voice called to him from the entrance of the enclosure where the circus was housed, inches away—. Haly is waiting for you in the backstage! —He yelled and Dick started running at that moment, and his sneakers slipped a bit against the wet sidewalk—. Hurry up! —He encouraged when he passed him.

—Yes, yes, don't worry —he yelled behind his back—. Raya still angry? —He asked, walking away.

A teenage couple stood next to Joey in the doorway, handing him a camera with a grin on their faces and their hands intertwined.

—You let her son enter in the lion cage! —He reproached.

—Johnny slept with them! Don't make me look like the bad guy! —He argued and began to laugh, loud and clear, like a robin's song amidst the noise, the people, and the strident and out of tune music of the circus, while he continued running among the people who huddled around the Big Top illuminated by neon lights. The colored posters followed one another from one side to the other, in an intricate sequence of colors, ending in the old poster of his family, black and blue among the bright colors of the rest, and always surrounded by a longing rooted in the background of their souls.

—Dick! —Haly yelled. He was holding the tent cloth that allowed backstage entry with the ceremonial staff; his big top hat was thrown on the ground at his feet. Behind them, on the center court of the Big Top, a crowd of applause roared, breaking the incessant carousel music.

Surrounded by the lights and the music of the circus, nobody noticed their conversation, and it remained there, overshadowed by the noise and forgotten in the wind of an eastern country, almost ephemeral, and moments later, Dick fell to his knees to the ground , on the wet earth, sawdust and fresh hay scattered around the Big Top.

* * *

**Wayne Manor**

**(Gotham)**

**October 1, 11:07 EST.**

* * *

Tim heard the phone ring from across the room, far away from where he was sitting, on the living room floor, leaning against the sofa behind him, finished writing for his biology class and it was Alfred who answered:

—Wayne Manor —he announced when he picked up the phone. Despite all the years, his strong British accent hadn't managed to fade even a bit, and Tim stopped paying attention instantly, reviewing the effects of a hydrogen cyanide compound and its use during World War II— . Oh, Mr. Haly, I'm glad to hear you again —he murmured, on an exhale, and his gray eyes turned to Tim for just an instant, and then they traveled the distance to the other end of the room and settled on Jason.

Tim was barely able to register his footsteps before Jason sat behind him on the brown leather sofa. He smelled of smoke and cheap cologne and the question of where he had been, was gone from his mind as soon as it appeared, when he saw Damian come through the back door of the garden.

His boots were stained with mud and he walked barefoot toward them, his katana slung over his shoulder, and his boot laces tangled between his fingers.

Jason glanced at him, pulling a cigarette out of Winstons box and not really realizing his own actions, stepped aside for Damian to sit next to him. And Damian, who did notice the gesture but said nothing, just sat down, the katana in his lap despite Pennyworth's reproachful look.

—I see —the old man suddenly whispered, so low that he wasn't sure if Haly had heard him.

Neither was able to hear the other side of the conversation, but Alfred's eyes suddenly took on a strange tinge that they couldn't identify. He hung up a moment later, without even saying goodbye and headed for the stairs.

—Alfred? —Tim asked. He had risen from the seat, perhaps out of concern, or out of surprise, but the butler didn't respond—. It was Jack Haly, right?

—Jack Haly? —Jason asked, stopping in the middle, without actually lighting the cigarette he'd raised to his lips—. The owner of the circus?

Alfred stopped on the stairs, not looking at them, and then, when his eyes found something close to calm he dared to murmur a single phrase and a single name that should explain everything.

—It's about Richard Grayson.

* * *

 **Gotham** **General Hospital**

**(Gotham)**

**October 1, 3:17 PM EDT.**

* * *

The hospital was almost empty, and for that reason, the noise of his sports shoes, stained with dirt, mud, hay and sawdust echoed everywhere, in the immensity of the endless and monotonous white corridors, always a breath away from the end, when his uncle's cold blue eyes looked at him for the first time in a long time.

But his mind, still asleep, didn’t see him.

—John?— He asked after an interminable moment, and Dick realized it was the first time he had spoken by the soft nuance that covered his voice.

—No —he replied, not daring to say anything more, or take another step forward—. No, I'm not John, uncle Rick.

Then something woke up in his mind, laden with pain, sadness, sorrow, and all the tears he hadn't been able to shed.

—Dickie —he whispered then, and suddenly had the feeling that time had run over him, remembering everything through a thin veil, light and dark in equal measure, but never as clear as it should be: the held breaths, the stares of wonder and the cold on his skin. And in the end, the pain—. Robin —he finally cried.

And Dick was only able to nod. Crying had already taken hover of his voice then.

***

When his tears dried a while later, his souls seemed to have lost a great weight.

They had many things to say to each other, but they all got caught in their throats. They didn't know how to start, because anything at that moment would seem insubstantial, and no one dared to interrupt that silence.

Although in the end, it wasn’t necessary.

It was the hot, heavy breaths of Gotham's masked heroes that managed to dispel the heavy silence that filled the room, and a heartrending smile crossed Dick's lips as he saw the family he had found behind the pain.

—Grayson —Damian alerted, with a half-formed sentence caught in his throat as he stared at the still image of both of them.

—So you're Damian —Richard Grayson murmured, with the strength he didn’t have, and then tried to move his arms to ask the boy to come closer, but his extremities didn't respond—. Come on, boy —he finally asked, surrendered. Damian approached reluctantly, entering the room with an awkwardness that did not characterize him, suddenly shy in the presence of a man who hadn't been alive in a long time, but who hadn't been dead either—. [ _Oh da_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes) —he whispered, unable to continue speaking in a language that was not his own—, [ _Puteam să recunosc acei ochi oriunde_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes) —he said. A bitter smile spread across his chapped lips and the tear-stained sight of him turned to Dick one last time—. [ _Are ochii mamei tale_ . ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes)

Dick, who was unable to take his eyes off them, smiled, his eyes equally watery with tears.

— _[Da, le are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes) _—he said, with a sad smile, without taking his eyes off Damian. He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, a bitter smile gracing his face and then, trying to divert his heart and the soul of the boy in front of him, looked away from him.

—Oh, I remember you —Richard Grayson said, when his gaze fell on the two boys who were still at the door, not daring to enter—, you were there, that horrible night, —he concluded, without addressing either of them.

—Er, I… —Tim muttered, in a strangled sound that didn't really make it out of his throat—. I’m... 

—Tim Drake, —Richard interrupted—, and Jason Todd, I guess. I'm old, and I've been half dead for a long time, but I'm not a fool, boy —he argued to the undaunted looks of both of them—, I know a Robin when I see him. —He finally laughed, hiding the wonder and amazement that filled the room with the brittle laugh that rose from his stomach.

***

—How...? —Jason would ask later, when they were about to leave.

And Dick could only shrug at Jason's half-asked question.

—It's the third time he's awakened this year, I guess he put the pieces together at some point, —he confessed without looking at them—. The doctors believe that he is slowly returning to the world of the living, but that there is something in his mind that doesn’t allow him to stay. —Dick turned his gaze to the interior of the room, to the same bed as always and to his uncle—. _Maybe this time is the last time I can talk to him_ , —he told himself, scared to death.

* * *

**Mount Justice**

**(Happy Harbor)**

**October 1, 6:25 PM EST.**

* * *

No one could say that they expected something that afternoon, and the more time passed, in the midst of that silence, as if it were a bad omen, the more certain they were that if something happened, it would not be good. They could almost feel it on their skin as the robotic voice from the cave sliced through the air.

— **Recognized. Talon.** —Announced, and they all looked at each other strangely, searching for an explanation among themselves, before running towards the entrance of the cave.

When they arrived, however, there was no one.

—It said: Talon. Right? —Artemis asked, a little pale and her voice shrunken, as if she was afraid of being overheard—. How in the song?

—Song? —M'gann asked, with the same uncertainty as Artemis and the feeling that something was wrong.

She had no way of knowing that the presence escaping her mind was already dead.

—It's an old Gotham legend, —Red Hood explained, still looking around, hoping to find new prey—, like Sandman or the Tooth Fairy, the typical thing parents tell their children to make them behave well—. It is something like: "Beware The Court of Owls ..."

—Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.

Sang a voice behind them, soft, in a whisper, with something dark in his voice that managed to shake them all.

Behind them an owl watched them with the gaze of a hawk, its lips pressed around a cigarette, its eyes covered with its old yellow-tinted aviator glasses.

—Well —he said—, let's play.

And suddenly, everything went black.

***

They woke up alone, with their hands and feet tied, cut off from the world and a countdown echoing everywhere, five minutes from the end.

—“Guys?” —asked M'gann through the intercom. The mental link wasn’t working—. Can anyone hear me?

—“We hear you Miss Martian” —Kaldur assured, from where he was, separated from the rest, somewhere he couldn’t recognize—. “Where we are?”

—“We're still in the cave” —said Red Robin.

They heard a distant gunshot, which echoed between them through the comlinkers.

—“Shit” —A metallic crack followed Red Hood's curse and then everything went static for a second—. “I'm in the hangar” —he informed after a moment.

—“Too slow” —Robin reproached somewhere. His breath sounded heavy, just like the sound of his footsteps, running somewhere.

—“Shut up, Demon” —Hood barked—, “Red?”

— “I'm on top of you”.

—“Great” —he snorted behind the mask, interrupted when someone yelled in pain, alerting them all—. “Red Arrow!”

—“I'm fine” —he whispered with a wince, audible through the comlink—. “I think I have dislocated my shoulder, but I'm out."

—“Where?” —Wally asked—. “I could use some help”.

—“I'm on my way” —announced Artemis, who seemed to have untied from her chains—. “Does anyone know what happened?” —She asked with a ragged breath—. “I mean, that man ... wasn't really a Talon, was he?”

—“Of course not” —Hood roared. Robin had just joined him and Red Robin in the hangar—. “The Court of Owls is just a tale”.

—“Well, it looked real enough to me” —Conner growled. He had managed to meet Artemis and Wally near the mountain exit when Kaldur and Roy appeared from the cave's underground vents.

—“Who the hell was that guy anyway?” —Wally asked when Roy managed to deactivate the inhibitor collar he wore around his neck.

Artemis guarded the perimeter, making sure they were alone before daring to make their way to the hangar.

Nobody answered.

—“I don't know” —Red Robin confessed at the end.

—“Guys?” —Garfield called in a hurry—. “Is here”.

—“Where?” —Megan asked—. “Where are you, Garfield?”

—“Impulse, Blue Beetle, Wonder Girl and I are in the vents.”

—“In the mission room” —Cassie clarified, leaning on Beast Boy's back to try to see her target.

—“Don't move” —Kaldur ordered—. “We will regroup with you in a minute”.

—“We may not have that much time” —Red Robin reported, pointing to the countdown that was still playing through the cave system and was reflected on the holographic screen of his gloves.

The numbers flashed red, counting the seconds that had already passed when they managed to make out the figure that had reigned in the nightmares of thousands of children and that none of them expected to be real, with a predatory smile on his lips.

The countdown reached zero, and the Talon grinned.

—You are dead.

* * *

**Gotham**

**(Gotham General Hospital)**

**October 1, 9:01 PM EDT.**

* * *

Through the window, the dark city stretched out in full splendor and the buildings lit up reflecting the horizon, in the silence of the room.

—It seems like you're waiting for a storm —Rick said, with an indecipherable emotion in his eyes, and that voice, which to Dick sounded like a confession—. You two used to do that when it rained —he clarified later—. Johny and you had a habit of spending dead hours watching the rain fall.

—I suppose some things never change —Dick murmured, but his voice was clouded by the bitter smile that memory produced.

—Know? —Rick Grayson began, as a last thought, turning his gaze to the dark city, through the bedroom window, to a glass-covered building—. I hate that building. It reflects everything around it: the sky, the Wayne Tower —he meditated, his eyes closed and his head buried in the pillow—. It's like it's hiding in the middle of the damn city.

Richard Grayson fell asleep shortly after, not knowing if he would wake up again.

And Dick stood there, for what seemed like a long time, an idea flooding his mind, reflected on the window pane, and on the Crowne Tower.

* * *

**Mount Justice**

**(Happy Harbor)**

**October 1, 9:25 PM EST.**

* * *

When he noticed the stance the heroes were holding, the Talon raised his hands with a sly smile.

—It was the idea of the [ _petit oiseau bleu_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes) —he clarified, amused, although there was a strange bitter tinge to his words that tasted like remorse.

—Oiseau bleu? —Red Robin asked after a moment, lowering the steel Bō, with which he had been willing to attack the Talon—. You mean Nightwing?

—Do you know anyone else who wears a blue bird marked on their chest, lad? —He asked scathingly, and lowered his hands. He didn't wait for him to answer, and the Talon lowered his glasses, showing his brown eyes, and hung them around his neck—. Calvin Rose —he introduced himself.

Artemis relaxed his posture then and took a single step closer to him, but Red Hood stopped her, walking in front of the intruder, still not lowering his weapon from him.

—Calvin Rose is dead.

—Yes —Calvin countered, lighting the cigarette he had just placed between his lips—. That's the idea.

—What the hell does that mean? —Garfield yelled, irritated and furious in equal measure.

Calvin took a long drag on his cigarette, forgetting about them for a moment and smirked.

—Put down your gun or shoot me, kid —he demanded sarcastically and stood in front of Hood with a predatory, cruel and sad smile, and spat out his cigarette.

—Do it —Nightwing's voice sounded behind them. He was leaning against the entrance wall, a sad look hidden behind the mask and his arms crossed over his chest. And no one was able to tell how long he had been there—. If you don't, it will probably launch from the [Arc of Triumph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297649/chapters/73238610#chapter_5_endnotes) —he said, his voice strangely firm—, and I'm not going to be the one to explain that to the police again.

—Come on, boy —the man prompted again, without taking his gaze from Hood—, you desire it, you smell like death.

He didn't give them time to blink.

Red Hood had already shot him then and Calvin Rose's body was thrown on the ground, around a pool of blood.

—Are you crazy!? —Artemis's scream echoed everywhere, but it didn’t seem , by far, a question, and it was camouflaged among the rest.

—What!? You heard the Boos!

Nightwing crossed the room to his screams.

The inert figure lying on the ground in front of him, his eyes rolling behind his aviator glasses, his mouth open and blood staining his face, brought back memories that he preferred to have forgotten, of a time when Calvin, as at that time, had reached its limit.

—Need help? —He said, still with his arms crossed over his chest, hiding his hands, which trembled at the memory of the gun, the bullet, and Calvin's limp body.

And then something macabre washed over Calvin's features, bringing a wide smile to his lips.

Laughter spread through his chest and he echoed through the cave, stopping the screams, which turned to steam against the cave air and stopped moments later when Calvin let out what appeared to be a sigh. of relief.

Nightwing then held out his hand and Calvin accepted it, rising from the cold cave floor with a mangy smile covering his features.

—I guess I've scared them enough already, don't you think, little bird?

—You will be hard to forget, Rose.

—What was this all about? —Artemis interrupted, when the impression of Calvin's false death seemed to have disappeared, as did the gunshot wound, almost like a magic trick and Calvin showed a twisted and strangled smile, formed in a stormy place in his mind.

Nightwing stopped her with a slight movement of his hands, not taking his eyes off Calvin.

There was something strange about his eyes and Calvin's breath caught. He had seen that look before, many years ago.

* * *

**Kiev**

**(Ukraine)**

**October 2, 04:57 EET.**

* * *

When they arrived it was already dark and the clouds released a strong storm, dulling the dim light that managed to make its way through the labyrinth that made up the circus tents.

They both walked instinctively, through the puddles covered in sawdust and wet hay, down a path that had long been etched in their minds, stopping only when the silence became unbearable.

—What does the Crowne Tower reflect? —He asked at last, and Calvin Rose, who had been about to remove a new cigarette from the nearly empty packet hidden under his coat, seemed to stiffen.

Before he could think of an answer and before he could blink the Crowne Tower he loomed before them in a ghostly projection onto a plane of Gotham.

A lump formed in his throat when he saw it and he forced himself to swallow it, along with the fear that devoured his insides, while somewhere in his mind, nightmares haunted him, oblivious to the strange calm that surrounded them and that in that At the moment, it tasted bitter and stale, and Calvin recognized the feeling for what it was:

Something, he didn’t know very well what, was about to change, and there was no going back.

Then, one by one, all the buildings built by Alan Wayne materialized around him, shaping his thoughts, and an imaginary beam of light was projected from the thirteenth floor of each of them, the same ones that did not exist above the planes, up to the Crowne Tower and as if it were a prism, each ray of light was projected in a different direction, guiding them to their objectives:

> The Orchard Hotel, downtown, stood regal and impregnable.
> 
> The Powers Hotel, right on the other side of town.
> 
> Wycliffe Manor, on the east side, not far from where Wayne Manor was.
> 
> The Vanaver building, on fifth avenue ...

One after another, they followed each other, marking the map of Gotham with more than fifty objectives and a labyrinth under their feet.

—Fuck —Calvin cursed in the silence of the city, letting the pack of cigarettes in his hands fall to the wet floor—. Damn old nosy. She's hunted them all —he murmured, and spat his name as an insult that was lost in the storm.

He was right. Amelia Crowne had hunted down the people who had taken everything from her and planted a target above their heads, in the eyes of the whole world and without anyone noticing.

Waiting for a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lions*: In ancient times all the coins that were used in Romania had the name of lion.  
> Wilhelm*: Lion Tamer from Haly's Circus.  
> Vegun* Ukrainian sweet.  
> Joey*: Haly's Circus security guard.  
> Oh da*: (Romanian) Oh yeah.  
> Puteam să recunosc acei ochi oriunde*: (Romanian) I could recognize those eyes anywhere.  
> Are ochii mamei tale*: ( Romanian) He has your mother's eyes.  
> Da, le are*: (Romanian) Yes, he has them.  
> Petit oiseau bleu*: (French) Little blue bird.  
> Arc of Triumph*: Budapest, the capital of Romania, is considered the Paris of the East, and has its own Arc of Triumph.
> 
> I decided to draw Calvin Rose, with a more extreme personality, starting from the fact that Calvin's motivation for doing his escapism tricks was his fear of death. Now that Calvin is already dead, by being deprived of this, he has reached his limit. His manias and suicidal tendencies are a remnant of the fear of death that motivated him.
> 
> I have also decided that, like Dick at different points in the play, he will use the Romany language to hide certain information, Calvin will use French.  
> Romany, however, is an unwritten language, and of oral transmission, since it is a set of linguistic varieties typical of the gypsy people, which has its origin in the northeast of ancient India. As it is not a language of which there are written records, the closest thing that can be found is Romanian.  
> Gypsy is synonymous with gypsy or gypsy derived from Sanskrit, which means "man of different races".  
> In another aspect, I have to add that although I studied French for 7 years, I never paid much attention to it, and I am only able to understand it but not speak it or write it correctly, so if someone finds a fault, I would be very grateful if I makes it known.  
> In the same way, the phrases in Romany (Romanian) are based on the translations that I have been able to get on the internet, although at the time a friend tried to teach me the language, but I am only able to remember a few words.
> 
> The Romani language, although it is present in many countries in the rest of Europe, and is protected as a minority language in these areas, does not suffer the same fate in Spain, where unfortunately there are still many racist attacks against this ethnic group.  
> The little or almost no presence of this language is also due to the persecution that the Roma received during the Second World War.
> 
> I'm also not quite sure what to think about this chapter. I have done my best and any comment on it, I will appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I should stop writing at 4 a.m.
> 
> I also need a Beta reader, because obviously English is not my thing and I don't trust Google Translate.


End file.
